


My Protector

by Bucky_Lokison



Series: Inspired by Prompt [1]
Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Augmentations (Deus Ex), Bad Cooking, Cooking, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 15:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20048203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucky_Lokison/pseuds/Bucky_Lokison
Summary: Prompts:“I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.”“I don’t think of you as a protector. More like a distraction.”





	My Protector

Living with Jensen was unique. He only really spoke unless he needed to. He wasn’t reserved or anything, he just didn’t have anything to say. If he wanted to say something or speak his mind, he did. Jensen wasn’t one to hide his opinions, especially when it came to you.

You had joined TF29 months before he did, and, being the only aug on the team, you were quite reserved. Preferring to work solo, you pushed away from everyone -except Jim, who took you in and became your sort-of guardian- including Adam.

He wasn’t rude to you or an asshole as most on the team described him as, quite the opposite actually. He would leave cups of hot coffee on your desk and pastries he knew you liked would somehow appear in your locker (of which the lock has been replaced so many times you don’t even bother with a lock anymore).

You had actually been the one to get him into TF29 in the first place. When Alex contacted you, you were content to give your aid. Jensen doesn’t know this.  
You don’t know if it’s the fact that your both augmented; no, Aria didn’t get this kind of treatment when she joined. Maybe it was because, like him, you did majority of your missions alone and he respects that.

Whatever it was, it’s lead to him walking you to your apartment, fending off racist naturals who dare insult you in front of him, and now him being a permanent addition to your home. He said it was to ensure your safety, but you have your doubts.

Not that your complaining. He’s not much of a hassle. He has a small wardrobe and he only really eats cereal. He only smokes outside the appartment and drinking has no real effect on his because Sarif gave him a beast of a health system.

But his recent antics have you a tiny bit peeved: he thinks he can cook.

He’s tried, and failed, to cook the things you cook. It usually turns out burnt, or overcooked, or undercooked, or somehow maybe both. 

One time you actually caught him before he made his attempt at “medium-rare” chicken. He looked like a kicked puppy -his eyes carried most of the weight- and it struck you say it, but, “I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.”

He gave an adorable pout and sodded off to the couch while you cleaned up his mess.

Afterwards you sat with him and curled up into his side. Despite how cool in temperature his synthetic muscles were, his skin radiated warmth beside you.  
You feel his chest rumble as he speaks, “how am I s’posed to be your protector if I can’t even cook for you.”

You shrug, “I don’t think of you as a protector. More like a distraction.”

Adam huffs and tugs you closer, practically on his lap. You enjoy having your own living pillow to rest on.


End file.
